We Can Get Your Kingdom Back at Wholesale Price
by azimah19
Summary: It's no mere coincidence that Hawke and Cousland disappeared in the end. They'd met once, before the Blight overran Lothering, before he became Hero, and long before she'd imagined being anywhere else other than her hometown. Contains references to the Arthurian legend, a recycled minor OC and probably some nuts.
1. Prologue - The Hardest Word is 'Fudge'

**This is what I've been hammering away for Nanowrimo. I didn't get the after-party spaghetti, but I did make the wordcount. I'll make Cousland eat the spaghetti instead. **

* * *

Four steps forth and five steps back. That's what it took for Marian to leave him. She simply couldn't do it. Abandoning the dead was far easier than abandoning the living.

The fierce wind buffeted about her headscarf as she turned for one last look at what she was walking away from. She had her armour on beneath her peasant disguise, and feeling the tatty skirt wrapped around her legs made her feel clumsy, unrefined. He'd still refused to meet her gaze ever since they'd reached the barren shores of the Coast. A storm was coming, and a ship was awaiting for them a league away, her captain anxious to get a headstart before the clouds overtook them. But he'd much rather brave the terrors of the sea than face the army of Templars chasing after them.

At the beach front, they'd already loaded up Bethany onto the boat, her unconscious form bundled up warmly against the elements. The crewman took up the oars and waited for the order to go. His fingers nervously gripped the weatherbeaten wood, wishing that damned noblewoman would just hurry up with her business. Even Ser Cousland was getting impatient, reaching out a hand and calling out: "Marian, come! I'm not leaving without you!"

She turned towards him, and made a desperate sign for him to wait. She then looked again at the man who still had his back firmly turned towards her.

"You should go," his voice rumbled out through the wind, through the salty air which will now forever remind her of farewells…and through the keening wails of her broken heart. "Your _husband_ commands you to."

"I _told_ you...it's not like that at all. Aidan and I…we're…" she trailed off, not knowing how to put things into words. She knew what they were before, but not what they are now. "You really should come with us. There's nothing for us here. Not anymore. I can't…I can't go without you. I need to know that you're always safe."

"I am," said the man. "Or at least, I _will _be. I've been alone before, Marian. I'm used to it. Now, you really should go."

"Marian!" Cousland barked. He thought he heard the whinny of horses. It'd be bad form indeed if they were caught here.

Marian did an involuntary half-turn, one foot facing the sea while her head was still fixed upon the man's hair. His familiar auburn hair. The first thing she'll miss was running her fingers through them. She imagined his face, those trademark blue eyes, and the storm of emotions raging across them. He _wanted_ to come. At least, she hoped he did.

She surprised him by snaking her arms up his chest, pressing her body against his back and holding him in a tight embrace. She closed her eyes, inhaled his scent, and desperately imagined that it was only the two of them standing there. But Cousland's bellows were hard to ignore.

"Marian, Bethany wouldn't last much longer if we tarry!"

"Goodbye," she whispered into an ear, leaving a kiss there and releasing him just as his hand came up to touch her. It grasped air instead, and before he knew it, she was gone.

Sebastian turned. The boat had already left, the crewman rowing like mad towards the ship. Aidan had his arm around Marian, head bent over as he whispered comforting words to her. In response, she reached out to touch Bethany's pale face.

She didn't even look back.

Sebastian watched them go, pondering over the events leading to this, and the circumstances surrounding his life. He summed it all up with one word.

"Fudge," he said.

* * *

**Next Episode: The once and future king**


	2. The Self-Appointed PR Officer

AN: Contains excerpts from Lovecraft's 'Necronomicon'

* * *

They're all plotting against her. She could feel it.

The Gallows walls were thinner than she'd imagined. Everyday they were whispering dark things, holding secret meetings. She'd stalk down the hallways and hear hushed conversations behind a door, but when she burst into the room, all she saw were Templars studiously going about their tasks, looking up only to greet her politely before resuming their work.

Ooh, these backstabbers were good. Already she'd harrassed Cullen thrice this week, demanding that he root out any insurgencies. Thrice times he came with the same answer: nothing. Her suspicions had been misplaced. No one was planning to oust her. _You must be exhausted, Knight-Commander. Why don't you take some time off and I'll look over things while you're gone? _

What, allow someone else to do her job for her? Never! She'd blistered Cullen's ears for a good ten minutes, expounding his incompetence and why she should never let her guard down, not even for this 'rest and relax' malarkey. She'd viewed it as such a vulgar term that she struck it out of her mental dictionary.

And now, this.

She'd found it inside Seneschal Bran's office, lying innocently on his table as if it wanted to to seen. It was a parchment, containing a careless doodle of Meredith as a fire-breathing dragon, and the wordings _'Down with Stannard, vote for Hawke instead'_ scribbled at the bottom.

Throughout her career, Meredith had all but one crusade. Now she realized she had two.

The raid of her secret storehouse at the docks cannot be a mere coincidence. Her savings – or rather, bits of the Templar coffers she'd managed to squirrel away without getting noticed – all gone. The seven dead guards could tell her nothing, leaving her with more question marks than answers.

But that didn't matter as much as the documents.

Throughout her reign as Knight-Commander, she'd perused and screened countless books and research papers she'd allow the public to access, destroying those she deemed as heresy. There had been instances, however, when she found the information so terrible that it was useful…for future usage.

It was at the storehouse where she kept them: studies on lyrium fusion, in-depth observations of the Blight symptoms, sketches of obscure-looking weapons and their effects…all covert experimentations done by the Tevinters on unwilling test subjects during the fourth Blight. They'd based their operations somewhere within the Maker-forsaken Vinmark plains, and Meredith had made a note to go there and see the place herself. But work demands made her shelve that plan, and yet it sat there at the foremost of her mind - like a toad inside a pond - tantalizing her with its knowledge. She'd already learned the effectiveness of harnessing pure lyrium as a weapon…what more could she discover out there within the sand-buried Tevinter research labs?

This theft had made her realize how imperative it was for her to recover those documents. Imagine what would happen if it were to fall on mage hands, or worse: Qunari. It _had_ to be the work of those…rebels, and it wouldn't take more than two guesses as to who their leader was.

Marian Hawke.

The Champion cannot be trusted. It's time she was brought to heel.

She should learn that Meredith Stannard wasn't someone she could trifle with.

* * *

"A sword in a stone?" Sebastian asked incredulously. "An actual _sword_ inside a _stone?_ That's your latest bright idea?"

"You _asked _me for surefire ways to prove kingship, and short of kissing frogs, I've really run out of options," Marian's voice floated back at him from above. He heard a grunt of exertion, and the both of them promptly sneezed. "Shit, this is why I hate libraries," sniffed Marian as she placed another dusty tome onto her lap.

Sebastian crossed his arms and leaned his back against a nearby shelf, the library's rickety ladder creaking and wobbling ominously beside him. It cost him a few karma points to make Marian shift the books at her own peril, and he somehow felt good about it. He was, after all, still angry at her. If this meant causing her a sore tushie and an opportunity to lecture her afterwards, then so be it. "Remember that you're still inside a holy building," he called up wearily, not that it did any good whatsoever.

"Anyway, haven't you heard of the legend?"

"About swords? Plenty…but not this particular one, no," replied Sebastian. "It's not practical, isn't it? I mean, how exactly am I supposed to use it if it's stuck to the stone, then? And why stone? Why can't it be anvils, or…or scabbards. And…why _swords? _I'm no swordsman!"

"Only a _real_ king's supposed to pull it out, silly. Or a prince…in your case. The story goes that the person who could get it out will automatically be the ruler. What you do with it afterwards is completely your business. You could use it as a _butter knife_ for all I care."

"So you're saying that I take this sword, swing it around…" Sebastian held out an arm and waved it vaguely, trying to imagine how Marian would say it, "…and proclaim: _'What ho…I have me a swordie. Now put me on the throne, chop-chop.' _ Like that?"

Marian paused, and when she spoke next, the wince was evident in her voice: "I would've expected something more eloquent, coming from you. But yeah, I think you've got the general idea."

Sebastian sighed. "Marian, I hate to say it…but this idea is more farfetched than the last."

"Well, I _told _you to slay a dragon-"

"I've no wish to become a Grey Warden."

"Or rescue damsels in distress-"

"You're doing a fine job as it is."

"What about the crown-shaped carbuncle on your ass?"

"I don't _have_ any!"

"Hmph, you sure? I can always check, you know. More than happy to oblige."

Sebastian tried to imagine a situation where, in order to prove his regal bearing, he'd have to stand before the royal court with his trousers literally around his ankles and hurriedly discarded the thought away.

"I'm positive!" he ground out firmly.

"You could chain me up and let loose a wyvern. Then you can pretend you've rescued me and Meredith will be so grateful she'd offer her own hand into marriage."

Within the musty, papery gloom, Sebastian made a face. Being married to the Knight-Commander had to be ten times worse than facing a wyvern! "I don't even want to contemplate that!"

"What? You cannot see the appeal of older women? They're financially stable, emotionally mature…and I heard somewhere they're at the peak of their sexual prowess."

"Can you _honestly_ see Meredith as someone emotionally mature?"

Marian pondered briefly over this. "Well…no," she admitted as she reached out for a slim tome jutting out from the rest of its brethren. "Ah! Found it!" she shouted triumphantly, only to be followed by a strained grunt. "It's jammed! I can't get it out. Hang on-"

"I can't believe it took twenty minutes to find something _you_ put in there yourself!" Sebastian complained.

After a particularly vicious tug, Marian managed to get the book out – along with all thirteen volumes of _An In-Depth Study of Patriarchy_ – and they rained down over Sebastian's head like a blessing from the Maker. Marian waited for the string of PG-13 curses to stop, before tentatively calling down: "You okay?"

She joined the groaning figure on the floor, pushing the books aside and helping Sebastian sit up. The man hunched over, clutching his smarting head in his hands, but a baleful eye swivelled up and commanded angrily: "You're cleaning all of this up! _Ow._ What _do_ they put in the bindings? I feel like I got kicked by a horse!"

"Well, they _do _say that knowledge is power-" Marian began sheepishly, but stopped when a finger was waved warningly at her nose. "But look at the bright side! I've finally found the last of these," she went on, showing the slim tome with the words _Necronomnomnicon_ emblazoned at the cover. Evidently, it had been her latest prank: placing fake demon worship books throughout the Chantry library and making it part of the compulsory reading list. Already she'd revealed _Cthluhu Mythos: A Popup Book _and _My Little Mabari: Friendship Is Magic_ titles at the children's section.

Whatever sins he'd committed in the past, Sebastian had reasoned, must be great enough for the Maker to send Marian his way. The woman had caused one too many head-scratching moments for Elthina and countless worrying nights as he wondered what new schemes Marian's perverse sense of humour would come up with.

He still remembered, with dreadful toe-curling clarity, last week's debacle which involved the swapping of Brother Horatio's prayer book just moments before Lady Beatrice's baptism ceremony. The mortified looks on the attendees' faces was forever burned inside Sebastian's memory as the priest intoned _'__Arise! Arise! Go far away! Your wickedness may rise to heaven like unto smoke! Arise from my body, and depart in shame!'_to the terrified baby.

Needless to say Sebastian found Marian at the back pew, witnessing the whole thing from behind a hymn book, shoulders visibly shaking with silent laughter. He'd hauled her out of the church to give her a furious talking-to, but whatever good it did merely passed through that six-inch space between her ears and wafted into the breeze all lost and forgotten.

He could've reported her to Elthina, but for reasons which baffled even himself, he didn't. He'd come to realize that out of five madcap ideas Marian had, one of them _always_ worked…and he'd merely stayed around just to see it happening.

"Honestly, I can't see why you don't think it's funny. If it were anyone else, they'd be laughing by now. I mean, some of my finest works are in here. They're practically theatrical masterpieces," said Marian, rifling through the _Necronomnomicon_ pages before stopping at a particular chapter. "Listen: _I will raise up the bread! I will cause the bread to rise and devour the kindling! Open the Door lest I cause the bread to outnumber the kindling! NINNGHIZHIDDA, Spirit of the Deep, Watcher of the Gate, Open!"_ Marian stopped at this point, sniggering and slapping her thigh.

Sebastian watched her display with disgust, before reaching out to snatch the book away from her.

"I. Am. _Burning_ this!" he declared, prying her fingers away.

"Hey, wait! I'm not done with that!"

They tussled on the floor for the offending item, their scuffling boots punctuated only by Marian's giggles. Their little romp eventually caught the attention of the proctor, who was prowling the rows of shelves for mischief. He glared at them disapprovingly, before uttering a loud and purposeful "Ahem!"

They both froze, slowly craning their necks around to meet the elderly man's gaze. Marian promptly disentangled herself from Sebastian, getting to her feet and brushing off her clothes in an attempt to gather herself.

The proctor was waiting for an explanation, arms akimbo and a foot tapping the tiles impatiently. Marian took a deep breath, and pointed at Sebastian.

"He found a naughty novel," she said, "and he refused to share." Her legs were already blurring to a run when she added: "He'll clean everything up. Byeee!"

* * *

"You're angry at me."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You've got that crease on your brow everytime you look at me. See?"

Sebastian pushed Marian's hand away. "I'm not in the mood for jokes," he growled. Regarding the expanse of forest around them, he asked: "Where is this 'place' you mentioned?"

"Just a bit further. Come on."

He pursed his lips, and grudgingly followed her. That particular patch of land they're travelling on were notorious with bandits, but Marian didn't seem to be all too concerned about it. If anything, her amiable prattle and the way her feet clomped through the undergrowth did little in masking their presence. At the rate they're going, they may as well have brought a marching band along and announced to everyone their exact locations.

"You seem rather carefree," he commented.

"This area's perfectly safe. Remember that cleanup job from two days ago? Yeah…that was me and Varric."

"What, only the two of you taking on a group of bandits? It can't be. You may be good, but you're not stupid." Sebastian paused, rethinking his words. "Not always, at least. So whose favour did you call in this time?"

Marian smiled, but kept her gaze firmly to the front. "We may have received assistance from a certain party whose interests happily coincide with ours."

"The Silent Sisters? The…Dogtown Lords? The Shifty Soapers? Or-" Sebastian stopped in his tracks as his mind threw in another mental card. "The Coterie?"

"A prominent dwarven merchant may have found his supplies raided one too many times. So it's only a matter of raising the issue to the right people at the right time and soon orders were given and an ambush happened. All Varric and myself did was wait in the shadows and pick off whoever's still standing. A little bit of wealth goes around rather nicely. In this case, it went straight to our pockets."

"I see. Pitch two opposing foes then you go off dividing the spoils afterwards."

"The enemy of my enemy provides plenty of backstabbing opportunities. You'll do well to remember that, Sebastian. Since we're in topic, how goes your war efforts? I heard you went to Antiva two months ago. Social visit?"

"More than that. I'm afraid it wasn't as satisfactory as I'd liked it to be."

Marian surprised him with a playful punch in the arm. "See, that's what you get for not bringing me along! The thing you should know about Antivans is that they're so…" she trailed off, searching the trees amassed around her for the right word, "…foreign."

"Well, that's very insightful."

"You're going about this the wrong way, Sebastian. You don't need an army to win a city."

"I don't?"

"No. You need someone who's able to _get _you one. Someone who can rouse the people into joining you. What you need, is a campaign manager. A PR officer. A spin doctor, if you will."

"Namely you?"

Marian raised a finger as if to make a point. "Fun fact on sociology: who actually governs a city?"

"The leaders, of course."

"Wrong! It's the people. Once you have them in your hands, then you're already halfway to the throne. Look at Dumar…too busy arse-licking the big players, and what happened to him? Now look at Aveline. Tough as nails, but fights like a tiger when it comes to her men. Oh, and you may want to take a page or two out of Anders's leadership book as well."

"Anders?"

"Yes. He may be at the opposite end of your spectrum, but why do you think people are joining his cause left, right and centre?"

"Because he believes in them?"

"Well, that's part of it…but that man is charismatic. He gets intense sometimes…but he makes jokes, he laughs at things, and most of all he speaks from the same level as everyone else. If you show that you're a regular person beneath all that holy stuck-up prat persona of yours, then people won't feel so…so alienated. _And, _it also helps if you're not afraid to get your hands dirty."

Sebastian frowned at her. "I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty!"

Marian arched a brow at this. "Really? You once said you've never been to Darktown prior to meeting me. Why, you were practically curled up in your seat the first time you came to my uncle's house. Probably afraid to to catch the low class disease. You had to hide your sneer of superiority from behind my rather insipid cup of tea!"

Feeling stung by the truth, Sebastian pounced onto the nearest excuse he could think of. "It didn't have a slice of lemon in it!"

"Right. Well, forgive me, Your Majesty…for not being an accommodating host," said Marian, executing a mock curtsy. "I shall make sure the scones are in the right temperature the next time you deign to come around."

"How'd you know so much about these things, anyway?" Sebastian asked, desperate to change the subject.

"Somebody taught me once. Long time ago."

Sebastian looked at her. It may have been his imagination, but there was a weighted feel when she said 'somebody'. Whoever it was, it must've meant something to her. Which would probably explain the mystery of her not being attached to anyone throughout the time he'd known her. It was either that, or she was really good at keeping her private matters private, even to her closest friends.

"Must be some teacher, then," he said.

"You can say that." A pause, and then: "We're almost there."

She led him through the bushes, and held an overhanging branch out of the way to let him pass. It had been raining the previous night, and either due to ill-timing or her impish humour (Sebastian could never tell which), she let go of the branch before he could fully get through, causing droplets of ice-cold water to cascade from the leaves and down his collar.

Levering a silent glare at her, she offered an apologetic face and made placating gestures with her hands.

The clearing they were in was topped with the view of a lake, its tranquil waters rippling in the wind and reflecting the majestic peaks of Sundermount. Wildflowers grew in scattered patches over the banks, and Sebastian spotted a hare shuffling about among the underbrush, stopping only to sniff the air and then dart off.

Marian had kept on moving, and when he looked at where she was headed, he saw it: the stone.

It was more of a boulder, sitting innocently in the middle of the clearing like any boulder should. She was motioning at him to come over.

"This is it?" he asked as he drew closer. There was, in all evidence of her claims, really a sword stuck at an angle on top of the boulder.

"Yes, this is it. Just look at it! Amazing, eh?" Marian asked, eyes gleaming excitedly.

Sebastian studied the weapon as he circled around it. By some romantic laws of convention, a shard of light had burst through the treetops and fell onto the stone, giving the pommel a golden corona. Motes of dust sparkled and danced around the glow, and was disturbed only when Sebastian extended a hand towards it.

"It's definitely fake," he said levelly. "Look at what it says over here," he flicked a finger over the flat side of the blade, causing a tinny metallic clang.

Marian stepped over for a closer look. Etched deeply onto the blade were a very familiar set of letterings. It said: _Souvenir de Orlais. 52 Avec Mort. _

"An Orlesian souvenir?" she asked, shocked. "But that can't be! It wasn't there the last time I was here!"

"What, so it just magically appeared all of a sudden…just like this stone 'appearing' out of your imagination?"

"Try pulling it out. Go on."

Sebastian let out a long-suffering sigh. "If this is another one of your pranks-"

"It's not! I promise! Varric and I have tried, but it wouldn't budge. Maybe you really are the one true and future king of Starkhaven. Only one way to find out."

"Marian, this is ridiculous coming even from you. We're not in Starkhaven. Even if I did pull this out, how is it going to prove anything?"

"Why worry about the details now?" Marian asked, making dismissive flapping motion with her hand. "We can make something up later. Just take it out."

"Maybe it's better if I just left it in."

"Or maybe you'll feel better once it's out."

"No, I prefer it inside."

"_Just pull it out, Sebastian Vael!"_

"Oh, for the love of-" With an exasperated growl, the royal archer turned, gripped the sword handle, and pulled.

It came off with the sound of metal grinding over stone. Sebastian held it aloft, and turned to Marian with a 'Happy now?' expression on his face. He hesitated when he saw her reaction.

She'd uttered a loud gasp and brought her hands over her mouth, eyes goggling spectacularly as she regarded him with a mixture of awe and surprise. It was gobsmackery at its best, and even Sebastian was beginning to feel afraid to move, wondering if he really did the right thing.

"You did it," Marian's voice came as a whisper. "You really did it!"

"I…yes, I did," said Sebastian uncertainly.

He gave the sword an experimental swing, and noted how poorly balanced it was. He brought the blade closer for inspection, then clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"What?" asked Marian.

"It's dull," he said, running a finger over the edge. "Possibly the only way anyone can use this is by bludgeoning their opponents to death. Someone must've pulled a fast one over you both, for there's no sword that can make anyone king. It's just myth and fairytales." With that, he hilted the sword back into the stone. Then he stood back and examined the weapon critically.

"What're you doing?" Marian asked when he began to bend over and search for something amongst the patches of weeds growing at the base of the stone.

"There must be a secret catch somewhere," he said, his voice coming back muffled. "Some pressure plate that holds the sword in and releases it only when someone's stepped over it."

"Sebastian, we've already checked. We didn't find anything. We thought it was a trick at first too. But this seems to be the real thing."

"Oh? As real as a useless sword? Honestly, Marian. We've wasted enough time here. Let's go back."

Marian darted forth and grabbed the sword. She pulled, grunted, then pulled again.

"It's not coming out for me," she said, trying for the third time.

"Oh, stop playing around Marian-"

"I'm not! See, I'm standing exactly where you stood just now. Nothing! How'd you make it seem so easy when it's really impossible for me?" Marian released the handle and huffed, wiping the sweat from her brows. "I'm honestly telling you, Sebastian, that this is no trick!"

"And I'm honestly tired of this. Here's what I think of your so-called 'legend'!" Sebastian growled as he yanked the sword out and strode over to the lake.

"Hey! What-" Marian stopped when she realized what he was doing. "Stop! You can't-!"

Sebastian pulled his right arm back, feeling the weight of the sword in his hand, and with one mighty swing, hurled it far and away into the water. He turned around, casting Marian a baleful glare, before making his way to the exit of the clearing.

Marian watched in dismay as the sword fell – and gaped for the second time when she saw something catch it just before it hit the water.

It was a hand, pale and ghostly, breaking out from the surface with the merest of ripples. It sank back in again, pulling the sword along with it.

* * *

**Next Episode: The real Lady of the Lake**


End file.
